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DREAMDRIFT 



DREAMDRIFT 


BY 

DOROTHY COOPER JOHNSONi 



THE TORCH PRESS 
cedar;rapids iowa 

1923 


G o py % 





$5 ' °l 


Copyright 1923 by 
Dorothy Cooper Johnson 



DONE BY 

THE BOOKFELLOWS 
AT 

THE TORCH PRESS 
CEDAR RAPIDS 
IOWA 



©CU7 66510 


DEC 27 *23 ^ 


CONTENTS 


Treasure.7 

Life.8 

Wind Storm.9 

Lilacs .io 

The Path of Dreams .n 

Shadows.12 

The Gift.13 

Maternity.14 

To a Country Church.15 

Twilight.16 

Love’s Pilgrimage.17 

For Happiness.19 

The Old Homestead.20 

The Quest.21 

Sublimity.22 

Dawn in the Forest.23 

Bereavement.24 

Aspiration.25 

The Mocking Bird.26 

Wraiths.28 

My Little House o’ Dreams .... 29 

In March.31 

The Song of a Bird in the Night ... 33 

You.34 


5 








To a Wild Flower . 

. 




35 

A Lover’s Rondeau . 





37 

VlLLANELLE OF FASHION . 





38 

When You’re Away 





39 

Hands .... 





40 

The Cup of Life . . . 





4i 

Could I But Remember . 





43 

A Prayer .... 





45 

Baby 





46 

Conquest .... 





47 


6 







TREASURE 


Though I am poor and have no gold to count, 
I count the lovely things of every day; 
From earth to sky the wondrous treasures 
mount, 

A vast estate that I may share alway. 

’Tis mine, the joy of dim untrodden ways 
With mystery and subtle magic fraught; 
The sweet aubade that morning softly plays 
On harps and viols exquisitely wrought. 

The rose and amber radiance of light — 

Each golden hour a coin that I may spend; 
The blue and silver beauty of the night, 
Cloud, moon and clustered stars, my jewels 
blend. 

And so my riches run into the rare 

And priceless things that I may claim as 
mine. 

I count myself as blessed that I may share 
The glory of a heritage divine. 


7 


LIFE 


Life is but a day of fleeting light, 

Of sunshine, storm and rain; 

From rosy dawn it fades into the night — 

To dawn again. 

Life is but a link of Fate’s long chain 
That stretches through the years, 

A link that’s wrought of sorrow, joy and pain, 
With smiles and tears. 

Each man molds his link. As in the sky 
Low westward drops the sun 
The fire in the forge burns low, the embers 
die, — 

The day is done. 


WIND STORM 


A wild-hearted sprite sped over the lea; 

Her feet were swift and her limbs were 
bare; 

On her mad-cap head her streaming hair 
Was thick with the spray of the surging sea. 

She waved a wand with her careless hand: 
Beneath a murky, moving sky 
With frightened calls the birds flew by 
Through rising clouds of swirling sand. 

The trees were torn and tangled plumes, 

The trembling grasses bowed their heads, 
And fragile flowers in their beds 
Clung fast to bruised and bleeding blooms. 

And then the sprite’s mad spirit broke: 

She wept to see the pain she’d wrought; 

To soothe the stricken things she sought, 
And waved her wand with a healing stroke. 

Her strength was spent with the race she’d 
run; 

With breaking heart she sobbed and cried; 
Upon a grassy slope she died, 

And her bright tears glistened in the sun. 


9 


LILACS 


The lilacs bloom, reminding me, and through 
their purplish lace 

That blows against my casement I can see 
again your face. 

And I should have forgotten, ceased to think 
of you; and yet, 

So many things you loved remain, that I can 
not forget: 

The fragrant breath of lilacs; and the river 
with the gleam 

Of moonlight on its rippling waves; the music 
of the stream; 

The silver luster of the dawn, and sunset’s 
golden light; 

The woodland ways; the mocking bird’s sweet 
singing in the night. 

This beauty that you loved so well still lives 
and is a part 

Of every year, and keeps alive your mem’ry 
in my heart. 

The lilacs bloom, reminding me, and I can not 
efface 

The memories they bring to me, wrapped in 
their scented lace. 


10 


THE PATH OF DREAMS 


Oh, you may follow the road, but I 
Shall follow a dim by-path 

That leads into a sylvan glade 
Where nymphs and dryads laugh. 

Oh, you may follow the road, but I 
Shall choose a hazy trail 

That winds and climbs to singing heights 
And dips to a dreamy vale. 

Yes; you may keep to the road, but I 
Could never follow it long; 

I love too well the way that leads 
To the haunt of a siren song. 

Oh, you who are content to be 
A part of its sordid schemes, 

You may follow the road, but I — 

I follow the path of dreams. 


SHADOWS 


The morning spreads upon my garden wall 
Transparent fabrics splashed with shining 
gold — 

Her spangled draperies that rise and fall 
And glint and gleam against the mossy 
mold. 

Long scarves of gray she trails across the 
grass, 

With jeweled patterns sparkling in the sun 

Where in and out their gauzy texture pass 
The silver threads from dewy brightness 
spun. 

The noonday passes; light with darkness 
blends — 

Exhausted day and drowsy twilight meet; 

And then the starry veil of dusk descends, 
And drifting o’er my garden dim and sweet, 

Dissolves and melts into the purple pall 

That silently the night draws over all. 


12 


THE GIFT 


I would that I could make a lovely thing, 

A gift that for thy wonder would be meet, 
A rare and priceless treasure I would bring 
And lay its matchless beauty at thy feet. 

But I, unlearned, unskilled in ways of art, 
Could fashion naught that would be half so 
fair; 

Yet I can offer thee a glowing heart 
With thy beloved image graven there. 


13 


MATERNITY 


Through a snowy drift of cloth and lace 
A shining needle flies; 

There’s a radiant smile on the sewer’s face 
And a far-off dream in her eyes. 

As the white thread slips through the dainty 
seam, 

Shaping the garment fair, 

Her mind is weaving a sacred dream 
Of texture pure and rare. 

The warp is of prayer from the dreamer’s 
heart, 

And the woof is of hope’s bright strand, 
And thought is the shuttle whose magic art 
Is weaving the pattern planned. 

On the loom of steadfast love is run 
The fabric of the dream 
That is shaped for the same little form as the 
one 

That is fashioned by needle and seam. 


TO A COUNTRY CHURCH 


How like a sentinel divine 
For many years has stood, 

With valiant mien of truth and strength, 
This church-house of the wood. 

Beneath its rafters nobly plain 
The tillers of the soil 

To worship come, with simple prayers 
For strength for daily toil. 

And many weary ones who’ve crossed 
This humble, worn threshold, 

To peace and rest long since have passed 
Through Heaven’s gates of gold. 

This temple of their faith they built 
Of crude, rough boards of pine; 

But costly sanctum built of stone 
Could be no holier shrine. 

Though unadorned, ’tis glorified 
By faith and hope and love, 

And beautiful in the sight of Him 
Who watches from above. 


15 


TWILIGHT 


A golden flare of light has marked the close, 
And Hesperus again upon his throne 
In regal splendor sits and reigns alone; 
Enthralled by twilight’s spell the senses doze, 
And in the tranquil respite find repose; 

As in this interlude a softer tone 
Prepares for bursts of glory brighter grown, 
In nebulosity the wonder glows; 

The tides tumultuous have ebbed away, 

On quiet currents falls a mellow light; 

On distant turrets lambent colors play, 

And broadening streams of silence bear the 
night 

That in the interval replaces day 

With mystic beauty holding deep delight. 


16 


LOVE’S PILGRIMAGE 


As down the long, long road we go, 
Wherever we may fare, 

’Twould be a happy pilgrimage 
To walk beside you there. 

As hand in hand we’d take the road, 
Whate’er the day be bringing, 

For every fate I’d have a heart 
That would be always singing. 

To hear your voice, to see your smile, 
Would make the journey brighter; 
To feel your nearness all the way, 
Would make its burdens lighter. 

It would not matter if the way 
Be rough, or what the weather, 

And day and night would be the same 
If we two were together. 

If I should stumble, what to fear 
If you were there to hold me? 

No sweeter comfort would I ask 
Than that your arms enfold me. 

And we could find some quiet spot, 
When twilight shadows fall, 

Far off the road where we could rest, 
Forget the world and all; 


17 


And I would sing a song for you 
While we were resting there; 

You’d lay your head upon my breast 
And I would stroke your hair, 
Recounting every golden hour 
Till stars shone out above; 

Then heart to heart beneath their light 
We’d dream our dream of love. 


18 


FOR HAPPINESS 


Oh grant me a dream of every radiant hue — 
A rainbow in my sky, of magic blend, 

That mine may be the pleasure to pursue 
Its faery fancies toward a glorious end — 

A vision that will lift my thoughts above 
The commonplace and dross of vanity; 
And give me friends and sweet home-folks to 
love 

Who in return will love and trust in me. 


19 


THE OLD HOMESTEAD 


Deserted now; and long untouched 
Has stood the open door; 

The dust that Time sifts slowly down 
Lies deep upon the floor. 

But many feet have come and gone 
Across the well-worn sill; 

And voices hushed have laughed and sobbed 
In rooms now bare and still. 

The scarred old stairway tells that here 
Gay childhood’s laughter rang; 

Within these walls sweet lullabies 
A mother softly sang. 

The low seat near the pebbled walk, 

In the green bough’s deepest shade, 

Speaks of lover’s moonlight trysts 
And the whispered vows they made. 

Now silence, like a solemn spell, 

Pervades; no sound is heard 

Save the whispering of leaves 
And the twittering of a bird. 


20 


THE QUEST 


I’ve journeyed far, oh Love, and still for thee 
I blindly seek, not knowing where thou art; 

And vainly have I yearned thy face to see, 
While some design of Fate keeps us apart. 

To hear thy voice I’ve listened, oh, so long — 
Its language sweet to learn and understand; 

I ever seek thee in the passing throng, 

That we may journey onward hand in 
hand; 

And once I thought I glimpsed thee, and I 
moved 

With quickened pace and pulse to gain thy 
side; 

But, ah, it was not thou, as time soon proved — 
The flame that quickly flared as quickly 
died. 

Love, must I ever wander on alone, 

And thy sweet guerdon never be mine own? 


21 


SUBLIMITY 


To lie at rest in some sweet scented dell, 

In its deliciousness my being steep 
As o’er my wearied senses gently creep 
Intangible diffusions of its spell; 

Where on enchanting scenes my eyes may 
dwell; 

Where nymphs and dryads whispered tryst- 
ings keep, 

Beside pellucid waters, cool and deep; 

To list to tales that Nature’s voices tell, 

That with unsullied purity abound; 

To breathe refreshing, soothing fragrancy, 
My soul content in chains of beauty bound, 
As round me swell the themes of poesy 
In mingled harmony of sight and sound — 
May this be part of my eternity. 


22 


DAWN IN THE FOREST 


Through high, stained windows in the fres¬ 
coed wall, 

The light of heaven shines with mellow 
glow 

In myriad rays of rose and gold that fall 
Across the pillared shadowy aisles below, 

Revealing rare and ancient artistry, 

Illumining the fretwork of arched beams 

And dim recesses where rich tapestry 
Of exquisite design and texture gleams. 

Soft voices rise and fall in murmuring 
At early matin and confessional; 

In cloistered choir the songsters sweetly sing 
Their sweetest anthem, Dawn’s proces¬ 
sional; 

A flash of splendor glorifies the air, 

And Dawn stands at the chancel, bright and 
fair. 


2 3 


BEREAVEMENT 


Not long ago we walked in deep, lush grass 
Whereon the dew in lambent starlight 
gleamed, 

And hand in hand we watched a fair moon 
pass, 

And there we blazed a pathway while we 
dreamed. 

But now across the path the shadows fall — 
Here where your feet and mine dissolved 
the dew 

And crushed the grass — and in their silent 
pall 

I walk alone, beloved, and dream of you. 


24 


ASPIRATION 


What countless, uncut jewels lie beneath 
The common strata — treasure unrevealed; 
A lovely bloom may sleep in plainest sheath; 
Thus beauty oft by grossness is concealed. 

And so I seek to find beneath the crust 

Of human shame and pretense, greed and 
strife, 

The gems of truth, sincerity and trust, 

And all that’s good and beautiful in life. 


25 


THE MOCKING BIRD 

What wonder breaks the silent, silvered 
night — 

Has ever sound been heard that’s half so 
sweet? 

’Tis like a fount of melody that’s meet 
For realms divine, its stream of sweet delight 
Ascending to a far, ethereal height 
From out a source with purity replete. 

Oh bird, ’tis by thy heart’s ecstatic beat 
It is sustained; and from transcendent flight 
It falls to fill the silentness below 
And flood with melody thy leafy fane; 
Again it rises in a ceaseless flow, 

And in a rippling cascade falls again. 

My thirsting spirit, languishing with woe 
From dearth of beauty, drinks its jeweled 
rain. 

My mind is filled with bright imaginings 
Of sylvan deities, divinely fair, 

That thy sequestered habitation share; 

And I am swayed by fancied happenings 
In glen and glade, of fairy gatherings 
Where Dian spreads her magic to ensnare 
All souls of sensitiveness chancing there 


26 


Attuned to beauty that from nature springs. 
And she has set thee singing to deceive 
My senses with delusive dreaminess, 

In which my mind is quickened to conceive 
Mirages of surpassing happiness 
That will but fade and leave my heart to 
grieve. 

Sing on, sweet bird, sing on, my soul 
possess! 


27 


WRAITHS 
(To Bessie) 

A soft wind stirred the quiet room; 

It whispered close to my ear 
And gently brushed my hair and cheek — 
I felt that you were near. 

A mocking bird sang in the dusk 
His plaintive, sweet refrain; 

And I could hear from out the past 
Your own sweet voice again. 

A lovely violet I found, 

Abloom in a mossy place; 

I stooped to share its fragrancy 
And gazed into your face. 

But stilled is the gentle, whispering wind; 

The singing bird has flown; 

The violet, its beauty spent 

So soon, is withered and blown. 


28 


MY LITTLE HOUSE O’ DREAMS 


When I see a flower garden where the yellow 
sunlight gleams, 

It sets my heart a-longing for my little house 
o’ dreams, 

Afar from the busy highway, where the trees 
the thickest grow, 

And the breezes sing and whisper through the 
branches swinging low. 

I can see the dewdrops sparkling in the silver 
light of dawn, 

Like a jeweled web a-gleaming across the 
grassy lawn; 

And the birds are sweetly singing in the 
tangled, leafy vine 

That clambers o’er the doorway of that little 
cot of mine. 

The honey bees are humming in the fragrant 
scented bowers, 

And butterflies are flitting there among the 
sunbright flowers; 

And through the maze of bloom and light a 
pebbled pathway gleams 

That leads to the peaceful haven of my little 
house o’ dreams. 


29 


And through the hazy distance oft I strain 
my eyes to see 

Some one loved and loving who is waiting 
there for me. 

But the highway has so many turns, a long, 
long time it seems 

A-coming to the turn that holds my little 
house o’ dreams. 


30 


IN MARCH 


The wind is gayly rampant; 

The tree tops nod and sway; 

The leaves are chasing each other 
Like happy elves at play; 

As her umber-hued protectors 
Join in the merry race, 

The violet in wonder 
Shyly lifts her face. 

The dust clouds whirl and eddy 
A-down the sun-bright lane 
And across the furrowed acres 
Of early planted grain; 

And down beyond the pasture 
The pond that was frozen o’er 
Is a-gleam with shining ripples 
That dance from shore to shore. 

There’s a rustling in the thicket 

Where, aroused from dreamy sleep, 
From cozy hiding places 
The little wild things creep; 

And above the rolling meadow 
The singing lark soars high 
On the breast of airy billows 
Across the wind-swept sky. 


31 


The old barn door is slamming, 

And in the bright sunshine 
The clothes are gaily flapping 
On the swinging, creaking line. 

There’s a joyous, happy spirit 
That stirs the soul of things, 

And the earth is like a playground 

When the March wind romps and sings. 


32 


THE SONG OF A BIRD IN THE NIGHT 


I heard in the night the song of a bird 
Soft-toned like a lullaby, 

And from its dreamy melody 
A silver note soared high, 

Lifting my soul in its upward flight 
To the realm of moon and star; 

Then sweet and clear it winged its way 
And carried my soul afar — 

Across sweet scented, moonlit meads, 
Through airy heights above, 

To a far-off sphere where calmly gleamed 
The light of peace and love; 

And my soul took hue and was glorified, 

And sweet was the inward calm 
That filled me, body, mind and soul, 

Like an assuaging balm. 

Deeply inspired by the thrilling sweetness, 
Secure on the wings of the song 
That drifted far through the still, blue night, 
Drifted far and long, 

My soul came back to the toilsome earth 
From a starry, heavenly height, 

Rested and soothed and strengthened anew 
By the song of a bird in the night. 


33 


YOU 


Your touch unlocked a chamber of my heart 
Wherein life’s sweetest joys lay slumber¬ 
ing— 

Awaking as the portals swung apart — 

And all the shades of loneliness took wing. 
Your smile illuminated dreary ways; 

Forgotten is the weariness I knew; 

And sweet and swift, the golden, gladsome 
days 

Speed by as through their length I dream 
of you. 

The music of your voice inspired my soul 
To wing its way unto a glorious height — 
With eagerness I seek a fairer goal; 

And in your presence there is never night 
Nor tears nor sighs to mar the perfect bliss 
That is mine own, unfolded by your kiss. 


34 


TO A WILD FLOWER 


O bloom, in haunt of fay and faun, 

With purity and beauty blest, 

A crystal jewel of the dawn 

Adorns thy modest, virgin breast. 

About thee on thy mossy bed, 

Beneath the boughs’ entangled lace, 

The sun a golden net has spread, 

Enhancing thy sweet charm and grace. 

Here in the dewy, sun-kissed glade, 

Thou woodland gem of loveliness, 

Thy fragile, slender form is swayed 
By naught save God’s divine caress. 

Above thee trills the singing bird; 

About thee presses purest life; 

No evil hast thou seen nor heard; 

No thought hast thou of toil and strife. 

I of the world that’s overrun 
With foolish pride and vanity 

Rejoice that I may look upon 
Thy innocent simplicity. 

Far from the path of restless man, 

In undefiled environment, 


35 


Serenely passing thy brief span, 
With every gift of God content. 

Ah, would that I could be like thee, 
Responsive to His will alone, 
That my life might untroubled be 
And void of folly as thine own. 


36 


A LOVER’S RONDEAU 


My lips are mute, though I would sing 
One song of Love’s sweet minstrelsy; 
And on the golden lyre I bring, 

My fingers seek the magic string 
That would awake the melody. 

So long I’ve held in secrecy 
The theme my heart is harboring, 

That when at last I come to sing, 

My lips are mute. 

With stars that in the heavens swing, 

With every pure and lovely thing, 

So that my song might sweeter be, 

My thoughts have long been lingering. 

But now when I would sing to thee, 

* My lips are mute. 


37 


VILLANELLE OF FASHION 


Oh tell me, pray, what shall I wear — 

In something chic should I be dressed — 
To charm my lover debonair? 

Or shall I dress with simple care — 

Think you that would please him best — 
Oh tell me, pray, what shall I wear? 

In gorgeous hues would I be fair, 

Or snowy white would you suggest, 

To charm my lover debonair? 

In something dark to match my hair, 

With crimson roses on my breast — 

Oh tell me, pray, what shall I wear? 

Dame Fashion’s problems, I declare, 

Have put my woman’s wits to test 
To charm my lover debonair. 

The hour is quickly drawing near — 

O’er gowns and styles I’m quite distressed — 
Oh tell me, pray, what shall I wear 
To charm my lover debonair? 


38 


WHEN YOU’RE AWAY 


When you’re away — the light fades with 
your going — 

Across my path where sunlight had been 
glowing 

The shadows lie; 

And in my heart the joy turns into sadness, 

And from its depths where there had been 
such gladness 
There comes a sigh. 

When you’re away, I miss the sweet com¬ 
munion 

Of your dear eyes that tell me in our union 
There’s happiness. 

I miss the touch of your strong hands on mine, 

Your gentle voice that whispers words divine, 
And your caress. 

When you’re away, my little world is lonely; 

All my desires and thoughts are for you only 
When we’re apart; 

And hour by hour my longing but grows 
deeper 

For the return of you, the noble keeper 
Of my poor heart. 


39 


HANDS 


The pale, thin hands lie listless on the bed, 
Like faded petals beaten by the rain; 
Without, the hand of night has softly spread 
A sable curtain o’er the windowpane; 

In flickering candlelight the room grows cold; 

The shadows’ long, dark fingers grope about 
And touch the pallid features, worn and old ; 

The candle flickers feebly, and without 
A wailing wind cries through the dismal 
gloom; 

The frail hands stir and slowly slip apart, 
An unseen presence fills the silent room, 

The hand of Death falls on the weary heart, 
And far beyond the human realm and sight 
The Master Hand directs a soul in flight. 


40 


THE CUP OF LIFE 


Man holds within his hands a brimming cup; 
With magic potion Life has filled it up; 
Athirst, he quaffs and nevermore knows rest 
From strange emotions stirred within his 
breast. 

He drinks and dreams, and glimpses paradise, 
And bright illusions daze his wondering eyes; 
Then, as his cherished visions disappear, 

He gropes through labyrinths of doubt and 
fear; 

He tastes the sweet of happiness and gain, 
The bitterness of disappointment’s pain, 

The galling draught of tragedy and loss, 

And drinking, learns he, too, must bear a 
cross, 

To strive beneath its weight for some vague 
goal, 

While flagellating longings scourge his soul; 
And drinking deep, in vain does he aspire 
To quench the burning thirst of his desire, 
And wanders blindly through forbidden ways 
Where with remorse and agony he pays; 

And ere he gains the peace he seeks must he 
Endure the anguish of Gethsemane. 


41 


The bitterness and sweetness all drunk up, 

In feeble hands he holds the emptied cup, 

And wakes, and learns o’er ruins of his dreams 
The sad futility of human schemes . . . 

Unsatisfied, he lifts the cup to drain 
The tasteless dregs, and fain would drink 
again. 


42 


COULD I BUT REMEMBER 


Could I but remember the songs that she sang, 
As held in her sweet embrace 
She rocked me to sleep, and the kisses she 
pressed 

Upon my infant face. 

Could I but remember the little prayer, 

That for me she must have said, 

As it fell from her lips at eventide 
When she tucked me into my bed. 

Could I but remember the proud, sweet smile 
That she bestowed on me 
When she dressed me in the little frocks 
She had stitched so patiently. 

Could I but remember these things, and more, 
It has been such pain to miss: 

A mother’s love, a mother’s prayer, 

A mother’s smile and kiss. 

Her soul took flight, and the soft, warm 
breast 

Where my slumbering head had lain 
Was still ere memory had formed 
Within my infant brain. 


43 


But I feel that her spirit is hovering near 
As for me she watches and waits 
Among his bright angelic throng 
At heaven’s golden gates. 


44 


A PRAYER 


Dear God, teach me to be content 
In my corner of the world; 

To live each day with restful heart 
As the moments are unfurled; 

To accept my lot without complaint, 
Though humble it may be, 

And to do with willing heart and hands 
The tasks Thou givest me. 

Let not my soul be fettered with 
The frettings of this life, 

But filled with faith and hope and love 
Ascend above the strife. 

Through Thy sweet grace I seek the path 
That leads to Thee on high 
Where I may see the face of Him 
Who died for such as I. 


45 


BABY 


O baby, why is it you fret and cry — 

Are you missing the angel’s lullaby 

In that far-off land of mystery 

From whence they brought you here to me? 

O baby, my love, do you cry from fear — 

Is the noise of the world disturbing you, dear? 
I know that in your heavenly bed 
No harsh sounds reached your slumbering 
head. 

Are you missing the beauty that cradled you 
there? 

I know that the earth is not half so fair. 

O baby, my darling, why is it you cry — 

Are you missing the angel’s lullaby? 

Hush, sweet, and dream, your mother is here, 
And angels are watching and hovering near, 
With beautiful, snowy wings outspread, 

To guard you in your earthly bed. 


46 


CONQUEST 

I would not sail the balmy sea; 

I’d ride the restless wave 

Where storms would toss and buffet me 
And winds and waters rave. 

For I would not contented be 
With drifting in the sun; 

Mine be the glist’ning, midnight sea 
Where swift the currents run. 

Oh, I would battle with the tide, 

A victory to gain, 

And I would choose a course untried 
Upon the mighty main. 

To test my strength, to rouse my soul 
To valor for my part, 

That I may reach a well-won goal 
With triumph in my heart. 


47 


























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